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Rosaline Moray Nov 2015
Built like a shard of ice
She grows taller in cold climes;
In environments hostile to
And envious of
Anything that breathes.

Hard flung words may try to break her
Howling winds will shake her strength,
But she is rigid and growing sharper,
Too spiky to think of bending.

With all the potential to break,
To crack, dissipate in the onslaught of storms
She screams into the avalanche of hate and says,

I am you,
And we are one,
We are one kind

All of us are lonely
All of us are hurting
Each of us doubt the other
Only feel our body’s pain

But when you cut me
You will be the one to bleed,

One day, when you learn to feel what matters.

It doesn't matter now.
Not today, and not tonight.
The Foxes are foraging in all force,
And they will not stop until they draw blood from ice.
Rosaline Moray Nov 2015
Father is
The strength of the tea he drinks-
He shrinks with age, but it is not evaporation.
I call it distilling.

Mother is
The rain burrowed deep –
Giving life, stripping away the moss that covers the truth of my world.
Inescapable. I cannot live without her.

Brother is
The boy who breaks my heart
More than the one who has my heart.
Come home, be done with your wicked games.
Let your pulse calm as we drink strong tea,
And listen to the rain.
Rosaline Moray Jan 2015
Tempt me

If you can.

If your eyes sparkle,
If you're 6ft2
If your eyes are brown

Tempt me.

Dare me to see you for you, and not for being exactly like

That six foot and two inches of absolute chaos
Like that boy who never takes no for an answer and is never honest and
Doesn't know how to be functional.

It never works.
You all look the same.

And I don't like boys with blue eyes, green,
And anything in between.
Rosaline Moray Sep 2014
I danced with the other girls,
And you watched my feet,
I saw you in the wings.

Your eyes were dark as my knees caught the light.
Spin, reach, drop.

Get up, carry on going if you have the strength to, girl.

My hips catch the fabric of the shift.
Swaying, rolling like the sickness growing.

My waist is small but my backbone strong.

This dress is not for you,
This love song is not for you.

It's all been staged.
Necks stretch,
Heads roll.

And I leave the floor,
Feet sure.

I don't run,
But you do.

We've played this out before.
Rosaline Moray Sep 2014
Out the door and on the street
She waits
With impatient lips.
Hands on hips.
Smiling eyes,
Sweet candy
Wrapper tacked to bottom of bright red heel.
Nobody looks at the sky.
What need is there to hide from clouds?
Rain can only wash tears and fears away.
This is a jubilant day,
Flat foot.
How many friends do you have left?
Some are gone to pasture in fields,
Some are posturing and misunderstand.
It's not your fault.
Listen to the brass band and her voice as she calls you down,
And into the light,
Where you can become once again what you always have been,
An every day hero.
Loud Father to your children,
Proud Husband to your wife.
Rosaline Moray Aug 2014
I visit a city
And there is blood on the streets;
Dried blood,
War blood,
Blood from my own heart.

Women birthed here
And died along with their men.
And the babies became soldiers and bled.
And died.

And there is blood from those who dared to love
To hold taboo soulmates in the dead of night,
And they're all sleeping now, safe and tight.
Mass graves and funeral pyres
Leave for little room in their retirement.

The streets are clean,
But listen to the blood as it sings.
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